


Once Upon a December

by betheflame



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Russia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22388026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/pseuds/betheflame
Summary: St. Petersburg is getting dangerous and con-men Bucky and Tony have to get out. Their plot? Find an actress to play the long-lost Princess Anastasia and get her to trick the Empress of Russia into believing the impostor is real. Gather reward money and live happily ever after with their piles of cash.Orphaned and with no memory, Natasha is a street sweeper willing to do just about anything to get out Russia and be safe. Even pose as a princess.Except... maybe she's not posing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, pals, you’re gonna have to bear with me on the names. I’ve decided to keep most of the Russian names in one way or another - but I’ll refer to most of the characters by their MCU names as ‘nicknames’ so we don’t get confused. ALSO. This follows the musical version of the story rather than the movie. I just couldn’t figure out who would be Bartok and the musical gives me a story arc for Steve that I really like. For anyone who has seen the musical, Gleb’s arc will end differently. I SWEAR this is not anti-Steve - boy just has some growing to do. 
> 
> Also. What I know about Russia - language, naming, places, traditions - comes from 1 day in St. Petersburg, a few books, four hundred viewings of this movie, and three times to see this musical. Mea culpa on anything I bungle.

_This whole project is inspired by the above art, found on Twitter from user[ciindrlla](https://twitter.com/ciindrlla) and used with permission. _

* * *

“Anastasia!”

The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova - more commonly known as Princess Anastasia to the world and Stasia to her family - did _not_ want her grandmother to move to Paris. She was soaking up every last minute that she could and no amount of bellowing from her father was going to stop her.

“Stasia,” Empress Maria Margareta Feodorovna scolded her fifteen-year-old granddaughter. “Your father needs you at the gala.” The pair were seated on a settee in the Empress’ suite. All of her personal effects had been packed and were being loaded onto the train that would take her to her new life in Paris. She just had one last piece of business to take care of.

“Grandmama Peggy,” Stasia rolled her eyes. “There is always, _always_ another gala. I won’t see you again for years.”

There was one person still living allowed to refer to the Empress as “Peggy” - her late husband’s nickname for her. Peggy and Stasia had always had a special bond, and the move to Paris was going to break Peggy’s heart in pieces. She was deeply concerned about her son and his leadership of Russia, but mostly about the safety of his family. His wife, Alexandra, had made too many deals with the devil Rasputin in an attempt to keep their sickly son alive and the realities of the suffering of the Russian people had gone unchecked.

There was war in the air and she had to get out. She begged Nicholas to let her take all the children with her to Paris, or even just Stasia, but Nicholas outright refused.

“Darling,” Peggy addressed her granddaughter. “I know this will be hard and I will miss you very, very much, but what must we always be?”

“Strong in the face of sadness,” Stasia recited. “Like a good Russian and a good Romanov leader.”

“You carry the blood of royalty in your veins, Anastasia, who have fought for their people for generations. You must do the same,” Peggy commanded and the girl nodded resolutely.

A bit of a dramatic child, Peggy mused, but a fundamentally good one. Always caring for her siblings and making sure her mother didn’t get too hysterical. Of all the people in the current ruling family, Anastasia was the one most temperamentally suited to rule.

“Stasia,” Peggy continued. “I have a gift for you.”

Stasia’s eyes lit up and Peggy smiled.

She produced a small, oval music box and turned the key. The box slowly opened and a familiar tune began to play.

Stasia smiled, with a sheen of tears in her eyes. “It’s our song, Grandmama.”

“It is indeed,” Peggy said and pressed a soft kiss to Stasia’s forehead. “I have a matching one. So that while we are apart, we can still sing our song.”

_Dancing bears, painted wings, things I yearn to remember_  
_Things my heart used to know, once upon a December_

“Anastasia,” Nicholas said with complete exasperation as he entered the room. “I do not appreciate having to fetch you. Hello, Mother.”

Peggy fought the urge to roll her eyes at his tone.

“I was just saying goodbye to Grandmama,” Stasia argued and Peggy saw the girl tuck the box into her voluminous skirts.

“Which I’m sure you have accomplished,” Nicholas responded. “Now you must head to the ballroom straight away.” He gave Peggy a perfunctory kiss on the forehead. “Safe travels, Mother. We will see you soon.”

Stasia hugged her grandmother one last time and followed her father dutifully out of the room.

Peggy departed on the train that evening, fully expecting to see her family again in the new year.

An opportunity she would never get.

After the assassination of her entire living family was splashed across headlines throughout the world, news from Russia was hard to come by. Her lady-in-waiting, Virginia, sourced gossip and news from wherever she could get them and soon the rumors of a survivor reached Peggy.

No one had found Anastasia’s body.

Anastasia could still be alive.

Did she dare to hope?

In the meantime, she did what she always did - she survived. Peggy went to salons, and attended functions, and answered questions with a cool smile. Did she miss her family? What idiots asked such things. As the years went on, and the rumors persisted with no concrete evidence, Peggy could feel her heart hardening against hope.

But still, she played her music box each night, and dreamed of a possibility that felt more and more fleeting with each passing year.

_Far away, long ago, things I yearn to remember_  
_Things my heart used to know, once upon a December_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current posting schedule is about every two weeks, and there are 15 chapters total. I hope you join me for the ride!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Nat, Bucky, Tony, and Steve in this world.

Bucky Barnes _knew_ St. Petersburg. It was his city - his feet walked themselves, his nose knew where to not sniff too deeply, his hands were light as they created illusions so that he could steal food or other things to barter in this brave new land.

_Leningrad_ , he scoffed. _Sure. It’ll always be Petersburg_.

The glorious revolution - in Bucky’s opinion - was neither glorious or a revolution. He and everyone else in the gutters had been starving and desperate under the Romanovs and nothing had appeared to change under the Bolsheviks. Which is why he was getting out. Paris, Berlin, London - God, he’d even suffer America if it meant he could get a job that let him earn enough to eat.

“Buckster.”

Bucky swiveled his head to see his partner/mentor/only friend in the world - Anton Stark - walking towards him.

“Tony,” Bucky replied with a grin. “Any joy?”

“None,” Tony shook his head grimly. “I tried the American embassy and they said because I don’t have any papers that says I was a count, I’m not protected under the relocation laws. Then I went to the German one and said that you were my son - real sob story I cooked up, I tell ya - and you had a rare form of cancer of the soul -”

“Hey!”

“And I needed to get you to the Black Forest for treatment and the man looked at me with the disdain usually reserved for our dearly departed czar, and so I got out of there,” Tony took off his hat and scratched his hair. “Any from you?”

“I think I’ve got a line on some papers to Paris.” Bucky ignored his stomach growling. “But we’ll have to do a big job to get the rubles they want.”

“The Party will have some things to say about that,” Tony remarked lightly.

Bucky was stopped from responding when the pair was joined by fellow street urchins Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.

“Have you heard?” Wanda started with no preamble.

“What, Wanda,” Bucky said, a note of exasperation in his voice. While Petersburg ran on gossip - there was nothing else to do, really, while standing in line for bread - he had limited patience for it.

Unless it was something he could use, of course.

“The old lady is offering money now.”

So maybe Bucky had all the time in the world for Wanda’s gossip.

“She’s that convinced the girl’s alive?” Tony said.

“She’s convinced enough to put a few thousand francs behind it,” Pietro responded.

Bucky’s eyes widened. A few thousand francs would set him and Tony up for a good long while.

Tony met his eyes and nodded. Nearly two decades of working together had proven helpful in silent communication.

“Fascinating, Wanda,” Tony replied dryly. “But you know how Petersburg -”

“Leningrad -”

Tony glared at Pietro for the interruption. “Petersburg gossip is. Can’t trust it.”

“This one was in the papers,” Wanda countered.

“Makes it even less worth my time,” Tony dismissed and then - somewhat hypocritically - asked the twins for the latest on all the various contacts they shared. Bucky listened with half an ear and scanned the milling crowd.

There were the usual Party officials; the giant blonde one who seemed to be in charge was making a speech on the other side of the square about how Leningrad was a city on the rise.

Sure, Bucky mused, it’s picturesque and pleasant if you don’t mind that everyone you know might be a spy.

There were the street sweepers (usually young women), the stalls of men hawking “genuine Romanov items” like Count Ippolov’s pajamas and other such nonsense, and then the ubiquitous lines. Lines everywhere. Lines for bread, lines for jobs, lines for toilets, lines for days and days and days.

A flash of red hair on a girl about his age caught his attention and something clicked in Bucky’s head. He waited for the twins to wander off and then grabbed Tony’s arm.

“Tones, I have a plan.”

* * *

Comrade Stipan Rodzher was proud of Russia. His father had been one of the first in their village to join the Bolsheviks back in 1915, when Steve was just a boy, and had passed down a strong legacy of pride in the cause. Joseph Rodzher had died knowing that he’d played a major role in ridding Russia of the scourge that was the Royal System and was one of the men personally responsible for executing the Romanovs.

Which is how Steve knew all these rumors circulating about how Anastasia was still alive were bullshit. He’d been in that basement - his father was teaching him a lesson about manhood - and he’d counted the bodies. Anastasia was dead and the way that his fellow citizens were clinging to a fantastical hope chafed his pragmatic soul.

Communism was the best answer to right the country after centuries of wrongs. Steve could recite Marx from memory, knew all of the commitments he was called to after volunteering for Party leadership but…

But he couldn’t help but notice that people were still going hungry after Marx and Lenin had both promised they wouldn’t.

But surely, the revolution was just taking longer than they thought. Surely.

A swirl of red hair across the square caught his attention and he shook the thoughts of doubt from his head. He had four more hours in the office and then it was home to Sharon and the kids. No time for daydreaming.

* * *

“You are going to audition a girl to learn to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov and then smuggle her to Paris where she will fool the woman who is the most cunning Empress Russia had ever seen,” Tony said slowly.

“No,” Bucky grinned. “We are.”

Tony glared at him, but remained silent, which Bucky knew meant the other man was thinking.

“If anyone can do it, it’s Count Anton Popov the IX and his consort James,” Bucky grinned and Tony shook his head.

“Count Anton Popov is currently a wanted man, and so is his consort for aiding and abetting the Romanovs from the castle, if you remember correctly,” Tony replied.

“You’re getting soft in your old age, Tones,” Bucky scoffed. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Destroyed along with the Empire,” Tony said bitterly. The men locked eyes for a minute, both knowing they’d done stupider things for lower stakes in the past. Finally, Tony sighed and Bucky knew he had won.

“She’ll have to be special,” Tony said.

Bucky grinned. “We’ll make her special.”

Tony shook his head. “No, because before she gets to the old lady, she has to pass muster with Pepper and Pepper suffers no fools.”

“Which is why she broke up with you,” Bucky said mischievously and Tony smacked him upside the back of the head.

“No one loves the Empress more fiercely than my Pep,” Tony continued. “So, our girl has to be perfect.”

“She will be,” Bucky promised. “We’ll teach her history and palace gossip and everything she needs to know.”

Tony peered closely at his friend and lowered his voice. “You know she’s dead, right?”

Bucky didn’t reply, except for a clench of his jaw, so Tony continued. “They grabbed her just outside the tunnel you shoved her into. You spared her watching her family die, but not from death itself.”

“You getting mushy on me, old man?”

Tony’s eyes didn’t leave Bucky for a few moments and Bucky schooled himself not to squirm under the weight of the gaze.

“Fine,” Tony nodded decisively. “Spread the word. Auditions at Yusupov Palace start in two days.”

“Yusupov?”

“Might as well start in the last place she was seen in public,” Tony reasoned.

“You go round up the funds to get us out,” Bucky replied, “and I’ll start scaring up some girls.”

“No one over 5’-”

“I know what she looked like,” Bucky snapped.

Tony held up his hands in mock surrender. “See you in two days at Yusupov, comrade.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and saluted lazily. “See you then.”

* * *

Nat heard a shot and hit the ground instinctually.

A firm, but gentle hand was on her shoulder in an instant. “A car backfiring, comrade. Nothing more. Those days are over.”

_Sure_ , Nat mentally retorted. _Until some new crowd gets tired of this system and then we get another glorious revolution._

“Thank you,” she said out loud as she scrambled to her feet. She retrieved her broom and refused to make eye contact with the man.

“Of course,” she could hear a smile in his words. “We are all on the same side now.”

_As soon as you kill off anyone who doesn’t agree with you._

“Thank you,” she replied, not sure what else to say. ‘Friendliness’ was not something she was accustomed to in party officials, which she could tell he was by his shoes. She went back to sweeping and found his hand on her shoulder again.

“Can I buy you a cup of tea?”

Nat forced herself to look at the man this time and found blue eyes and a wide smile. “No thank you.”

“You look cold,” he said gently and she leveled him with a look.

“It’s Russia in October. Find me someone who isn’t cold.”

He laughed and she was temporarily arrested. Laughter… she hadn’t heard that in so long. It felt like a luxury, like silk running over her soul.

“I have to get back to work,” Nat said, cutting off his second attempt to buy her tea and continued sweeping with enthusiasm. “I can’t lose this position, jobs aren’t easy to come buy.”

“Well, comrade,” the man smiled and nodded, “let me not keep you from your work.”

She flashed a smile of gratitude and moved away from him, quickly getting lost in her own thoughts.

Natasha was an orphan - not uncommon among the people of Russia in the days after the revolution, but what was uncommon was that she had almost no memories from before she was found on the side of the road about nine years previous. An orphanage had taken her in as a worker and she’d spent the first few years after being found holding babies and cleaning floors and generally trying to be useful. They were the ones who gave her the name Natasha, since she’d been found in December. She’d learned the art of observation and secret keeping - both of which served her well in Petersburg once she’d left the orphanage.

She gradually learned to live with the ache in her chest that told her she once belonged to someone, once had a family, once knew the warmth of love as well as the warmth of fireplaces in homes not made from scraps of wood.

As the years went on and her memory never returned, Nat resigned herself to this life of keeping her head down and getting on with things. Her dreams, however, were another matter. There, she leaned into the feelings of hope, love, and family that captured both her imagination and her soul. The problem was that every morning she woke up to a life that didn’t match.

“Natasha,” a whisper came from a passing fellow sweeper. “The Count and the street rat have a new scheme and they’re auditioning Anasatias. You got the hair, you should try.”

Before Nat could turn to acknowledge, the other girl was gone. The schemes of Anton and James - the former Count Popov were famous in the secret networks of Petersburg and usually successful. Which, sure, everyone knew the count bit had been a lie but had been generous with his largesse while in the palace, so the networks of alley dwellers had gladly hidden him and his … well, no knew what James was to him, really. They were very, very close, but…

If the pair had cooked up something new, it might be her way to Paris.

Ever since she woke up in this life, she knew she had to get to Paris. There were diamonds sewn into the clothes they found her in, and she’d managed to keep most of them after enterprising fingers had lifted some. It was enough for fake papers to get out of Russia, but she didn’t have the connections in the underground networks to know how to get there. If she could convince the count and the conman to take her…

She swept quickly and then Nat took the long way back to the alley where she slept, gathering information along the way. Petersburg ran on rumors - it was the only thing to do while waiting for the revolution to catch up to their social class - so if you listened carefully and gathered as much information as you could, you could usually piece together the truth. And so Nat resolved to be at Yusopov Palace the next day at 3pm.

Maybe, just maybe, her life would change.


End file.
